


Maybe Tomorrow

by gimmefire



Category: Formula 1 RPF
Genre: Angst, Guilt, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-20
Updated: 2009-12-20
Packaged: 2017-12-03 17:16:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,400
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/700727
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gimmefire/pseuds/gimmefire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Singapore 2008. <i> Felipe finally turned his head, fixing Nelsinho with a hard gaze. "I thought about what you said to me."</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Maybe Tomorrow

**Author's Note:**

> Set the night of Singapore 2008, after the race. Not Flavio friendly. The section in italics is a flashback. Not directly inspired by the Stereophonics [song](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LV58fxXOQuE) of the same name, but it makes a nice accompaniment. Beta by [evaine](archiveofourown.org/users/evaine%22%22).

Nelsinho glared out at the night, the lights of Singapore strewn across the landscape before him. Even at this hour there was still activity, there were still lives going on. The city's pause for Formula One to come and run its merry way around its streets was long since over. Nelsinho fleetingly wondered, perhaps wistfully, how easy it would be to slip out onto those shadowed streets unnoticed, blend in with those ordinary lives and not come back. Slip away.

Hate scratched at his heart. Hate for the race, the car, the sport, Flavio, Pat, Fernando...himself. Tired, but not wanting to sleep, angry, but not wanting to smash anything, Nelsinho settled for watching other people's lives go on and digging his nails into his palms.

He hoped that whoever was at his hotel room door would take the hint and go away.

A second knock sounded, then, after a few moments, a third one. Then came a voice.

"Nelsinho?"

He went cold. That voice's familiarity made him want to shrink into himself and pretend he couldn't hear anything. Even as the desire to slip out unnoticed into the night returned, he found himself turning and walking to the door. Even as the desire to disappear completely washed over him, he twisted the door handle.

Felipe stood there looking off down the corridor, apparently at nothing in particular. Held in each of his hands was a bottle of cachaça, and as Nelsinho looked him up and down, he seemed unwilling to speak or even look at him. Nervous and not quite brave enough to close the door and slink back into solitude, the younger man spoke.

"Having a party?" he asked in a withered little voice, a thin smile on his face for the briefest of moments.

At that, Felipe finally turned his head, fixing Nelsinho with a hard gaze. There was the scent of alcohol on his breath; not enough to overpower, but enough to make Nelsinho worry. He'd always imagined Felipe to be a happy drunk. He didn't look particularly happy right then.

"I thought about what you said to me."

\--------

_A hand caught Nelsinho's arm, halting his passage through the hotel bar towards the lifts that would take him far away from the happy chattering noise of his team. Looking around, he was surprised to find Felipe tugging at his sleeve. His compatriot nodded towards a slightly rowdy, definitely quite drunk Renault team across the room. "Aren't you staying to celebrate a little?"_

_Nelsinho followed his gaze, eyes straying to Flavio seated near the team, smiling but not involving himself in their conversations. He gritted his teeth, feeling his throat tighten. "It's hard for me to celebrate with them tonight," he muttered._

_Felipe gave a small, understanding smile. "The crash."_

_Nelsinho pulled his eyes away from the happy scene and focussed on Felipe. The words_ I crashed on purpose _formed, tasted bitter at the back of his throat. He shoved them down, heard himself choke. This storm must have been written all over his face, because Felipe's smile faded and he raised a hand, squeezing Nelsinho's shoulder in utterly oblivious sympathy. There was genuine concern in his eyes..._

_"Yes," Nelsinho murmured, slowly and deliberately. "Because of the crash." He glanced over to Flavio again. Fleetingly he wondered how long it would be before he looked at members of his team and felt anything other than anger or shame._

_This time it had been Felipe's turn to follow Nelsinho's gaze, and he was now watching Flavio with a small frown creasing his brow. The chatter in the bar seemed to melt away as Nelsinho eyed the older man, willing him to understand, biting down on the reckless desire to pull him closer and whisper away his secret._

_Felipe's eyes returned to him, wary confusion clouding them as his frown deepened. He then shook his head, the movement barely noticeable, and Nelsinho gave no assent or denial._ Please understand, _he thought._ Please. __

_The hand slid from his shoulder._

_The lack of contact caused Nelsinho to snap out of it. He took a step back, seeing the spark of realisation break through the confusion in Felipe's eyes, and felt his heart begin to hammer in his chest. Felipe understood. Felipe understood what, but he'd likely never understand_ why _._

 _"Nelsinho..." Felipe said in a voice laden with words unsaid._ Please tell me I have misunderstood. __

_"I'm sorry," Nelsinho murmured weakly, an apology for everything. He turned and continued on his way, escaping from that shocked expression and the sight of full comprehension that would be crashing over Felipe at that very moment._

_"_ Nelson! _"_

_Nelsinho heard Felipe's shout, heard the urgency of it but did not heed it. He pushed a hand through his hair, feeling his eyes sting, and quickened his pace. He didn't even think about looking back._

\--------

Nodding numbly, Nelsinho stepped aside to allow Felipe into his room. As he closed the door, Felipe spoke again in that same low, too calm voice.

"I talked to Flavio."

Nelsinho licked his lips, not yet feeling brave enough to turn around. Mild nausea began to creep through his body and his tongue felt thick and unwieldy inside his mouth. If he were feeling contemplative, or thinking clearly at all, he might wonder if it was trying to stop him from asking a question he did not want to know the answer to. "What did you say to him?"

"I said to him that the crash was not right. I said that it happened because he wanted it to happen."

 _Oh my God,_ came the unhelpful reaction in Nelsinho's mind. His heartbeat echoed in his ears as he pushed away from the door, turning and forcing himself to face the older man. Felipe was watching him with that same hard gaze, and it was enough to make him cringe. Another unpleasant question swelled up in his throat. "A-and what did he say?"

To Nelsinho's utter surprise, Felipe snuffed a laugh, though the apparent amusement wasn't immediately visible on his face. That hard look slid away and Felipe looked down at the bottle in his right hand, thumbing over the cap and shaking his head with a bitter smirk. Nelsinho tried to distract himself from the forthcoming answer by studying the movement of that thumb as it circled the edge of the cap over and over again.

"He laughed at me."

The answer took a long few moments to process, Nelsinho having to blink to clarify it. He looked up with a quizzical frown, and Felipe met his eyes. "He laughed at me," he repeated with an incredulous, and humourless, laugh of his own.

He could imagine it. Nelsinho could fucking imagine that bastard and his slow, sly chuckle, one he'd heard enough times since the start of the season to know that it came from someone who thought nothing could catch up with him, no-one would call him on his bullshit, everything just slid off of him, that _arrogant_...

Suddenly angry all over again, Nelsinho looked at Felipe with a mix of desperation and fervour. "I'm sorry," he began in a low, raw voice. "I _am_ sorry. I think I've made the biggest mistake of my life and I don't expect you to understand why or tell me it's okay, but I know, I-I at least know that it was a mistake and," he paused, stumbling on his thoughts and recognising alarm in Felipe's eyes. He spoke faster. "I'm so sorry to you, Felipe, if you think you were hurt by it in any way – you're the last person I...but I didn't think, I _didn't think_ and now I don't know what—"

Increasingly distraught and despairing, Nelsinho barely noticed Felipe approaching him until a hand clamped over his mouth, mid-sentence and mid-outpouring. It's only then that he could see up close the anger mixing with the alarm in those dark eyes. " _Stop_ ," Felipe said sharply, a command forced out through gritted teeth.

Nelsinho's vision blurred and he froze under the touch. Amidst distorted emotions he realised that he'd never before been so intensely aware of the scent and warmth of Felipe's skin. Words withered and died in his throat as an urge welled up inside him to knock that hand aside and burrow into Felipe's chest, to take comfort that wasn't offered and that he didn't deserve. He blinked and it did little to clear his sight.

A few moments of tense confrontation passed and Felipe's shoulders began to sink, that simmering anger in his eyes dying away. He suddenly looked weary. "Stop," he repeated, this time much more of a mumble than a stark order, and let his hand drop to his side. Nelsinho couldn't tell if there was disgust or frustration in that single word, but there was certainly a lack of anger.

Felipe exhaled slowly, eyes downcast, and in the absence of a misguided confession Nelsinho could only fill the silence with his own hastened breathing. He still felt sick.

"You should call room service," Felipe murmured, turning back to the bottles he'd hurriedly set on the floor.

Wondering if he'd missed half a conversation somewhere, Nelsinho stared at the other man, nonplussed. "Why?"

Felipe glanced over his shoulder, giving Nelsinho a look. "So we can get some service to your room," he said dryly, making his way to the kitchen area.

Nelsinho laughed a little despite himself, and the tension in his stomach eased slightly. "Of course," he said with a wobbly grin. He pressed the heels of his hands over damp eyes, sniffed and looked around for the room's phone. This was a task he could distract himself with, whatever Felipe had planned.

On lifting the receiver, he looked to his compatriot again. "Uh, what should I—?"

At first glance, Felipe seemed oddly interested in the label on his cachaça, leaning against the counter top as he was and staring at the bottle in his hands. On closer inspection it appeared through his clouded eyes and slight frown that he was preoccupied by thought. The bottle may as well not have been there.

Eventually his gaze lifted. "Fruit juice, pitchers of it. And sugar. We can make _batidas_ ," he said impassively.

Nelsinho was about to ask which fruit, but thought better of it when Felipe's eyes left him again, returning to not-study the bottle. He tried to ignore the little voice that reminded him that _batida_ could also mean 'car crash'...

When pitchers of passion fruit juice were on their way up, Nelsinho made his way to the kitchen cupboards, a noisy scrape breaking the heavy silence as he pulled down two glasses and set them by Felipe's arm. He watched the older man absently run his thumbnail under the edge of the bottle's label, watched his shoulders rise and fall with each breath, and wondered how he would react to a cautious touch.

The need for comfort still echoed through him, made his chest ache. Felipe was probably the last person he should seek comfort from, but he was right there, right there in front of him of his own volition...Nelsinho wondered what would happen if a hand just barely caressed Felipe's back, or settled at his hip. He wondered if Felipe would stiffen under his touch, or if he would turn and pull him into a breathless hug, hissing at their mutual yet differing stupidity.

All he did was wonder, because the courage to initiate something would not come; he didn't have much courage left these days. Instead he took his place beside the silent man, leaning against the counter close enough to Felipe that their arms touched.

"I don't know what's going to happen now," Nelsinho murmured.

Silence hung in the air for a while, Nelsinho occasionally stealing glances as Felipe, renewed worry creeping along his skin and making him shiver lightly. He'd give his right arm for a glimpse into the other man's mind at that moment, to do something to numb the agony of anticipation. He didn't really notice that his hands were shaking until Felipe did.

Felipe's eyes moved from the bottle to those clasped hands, just slightly trembling, and he watched them until Nelsinho followed his gaze. Embarrassed and feeling his heart sink even lower in his chest, Nelsinho clenched his fists in a fruitless attempt to still them. On looking up again he found Felipe looking directly at him. Before he could think of something to say, Felipe heaved a sigh, set aside the bottle, folded his arms and let his head sink down to rest on them.

The concerned words _are you okay_ never made it past Nelsinho's lips; Felipe abruptly straightened up and dragged the two glasses towards him, cracking open the cachaça and pouring a shot's worth into each. He pushed one glass back in front of Nelsinho, who had barely lifted it from the counter before Felipe had downed his shot and looked at him impatiently.

Obediently Nelsinho echoed Felipe's action, ignoring the mix of persistent nervousness and nausea that told him he didn't really feel like drinking, and eyed the other man warily. _What was all this—_

"I've made a decision," Felipe said softly.

Nelsinho's eyes widened fractionally as his stomach lurched. _He's going to the FIA. He's going to go to the FIA and...and..._

Felipe was watching him carefully, so he straightened up and hid his trembling hands behind his back as though he was being disciplined. He couldn't remember the last time he had felt so scared. Speech was not forthcoming, so Nelsinho merely nodded. Again his brain noted the alcohol on Felipe's breath, but the words that followed were clear enough. As Felipe spoke in quiet, steady tones, he never took his eyes from Nelsinho's.

"We are going to drink. We are going to get drunk. We are going to get drunk, and maybe I will forget all of this." He paused to press his lips together. "Maybe tomorrow I will not remember what you said."

Nelsinho shook his head minutely; not in disagreement, in confusion. Before he could say a word – not that he could think of a single word to say – a knock sounded at the door. Felipe finally broke his gaze, looking at the floor before turning back to the counter and making no move to answer the door himself.

Asking Felipe to repeat himself felt churlish, but...did those words actually mean what he thought they meant? In hoping that they did, he felt a twinge of shame.

_Maybe tomorrow I will not remember what you said._

Legs weak and head swimming, Nelsinho was only jerked into action when the door was knocked again. He turned, feeling his knees give momentarily, and walked to the door. Such was the depth of his distraction he didn't honestly notice whether the person delivering the fruit juice and sugar was male or female. He mumbled his thanks as they pushed the cart towards the kitchen area, tipped them when they returned and was left alone with Felipe once again.

After pouring the cachaça out into their respective glasses, Felipe knocked back a shot's worth of it directly from the bottle before setting it down and reaching for a pitcher. He seemed to become aware that Nelsinho was watching him, because he slowed his activities to a stop and raised his eyes.

Nelsinho had yet to move away from the door. "You..." _You're not going to tell anybody?_ The question formed but never emerged. He stared at Felipe, a man he didn't understand, didn't truly recognise at that moment; the brooding, sombre Brazilian was not the same person he had come to know and consider a friend in the paddock. Despite this, he seemed to be offering something; not the comfort Nelsinho ached for nor the total rejection and abhorrence he feared, but something that, for better or for worse, left it all in his hands. Wilful ignorance.

Maybe tomorrow he would be brave enough to decide his own fate.

With this in mind, he approached Felipe and took an entirely different tack. "You'll win the championship."

Felipe blinked at that. Nelsinho continued, even though he didn't quite believe his own words. "I'm sure of that."

Felipe stared at him for a long few moments, expression unreadable, before his gaze softened and he looked away with a wry smirk that quickly faded. It made Nelsinho's heart lift a little. After a brief hesitation, he murmured a breathless thank you to which Felipe did not respond.

Once their _batidas_ were made – and after Felipe had knocked back another shot of cachaça – Nelsinho followed Felipe to the couch. The older man sank into the leather, letting his head rest against the back and sighing deeply. Nelsinho, cautious, sat close to the edge but angled his body towards Felipe, allowing his glass to hang loosely from his fingertips.

The leather creaked as Felipe sat forward. "The first of many," he said, extending his arm and holding his drink aloft. Nelsinho did the same, and the glasses met with a hollow little _clink_. Felipe gave an idle hum of appreciation as he tasted his _batida_ while Nelsinho sipped at his own in silence. He still didn't really want to drink.

"I hope something good comes of all this soon," Felipe murmured.

Nelsinho nodded slowly, his eyes beginning to sting. All that anger and hate from earlier that night had dissipated, but the guilt remained. It ached like a sickness in the pit of his stomach, and Felipe's presence had made it all the worse. He doubted that he could cope at all if he was left alone again.

He clenched his jaw. _No more thinking about it tonight,_ he thought as resolutely as he could, rubbing his eyes. _No more dwelling on 'what if', no more wondering 'what now'. Tomorrow. Tomorrow could be—_

Feeling Felipe's gaze on him, Nelsinho turned his head. For the first time since their meeting at the bar, beyond the increasingly apparent haze of alcohol, he saw sympathy in Felipe's eyes.

"Nelsinho..." Felipe said softly, head slightly tilted.

No, wait. It wasn't sympathy. It was pity. _Oh, Nelsinho. What have you done?_

Feeling that ache in his stomach worsen and finding his vision blurring again, Nelsinho could muster no other response than to nod numbly. He exhaled sharply and hoped that it didn't sound too much like a sob.

An arm slid across his back and Felipe shifted himself closer, taking another mouthful of his drink before leaning his head against Nelsinho's. Not questioning it for a moment, Nelsinho simply sank into the contact and focussed on the warmth of Felipe's palm at his shoulder. He squeezed his eyes shut and listened to their breathing, out of sync but soothing. The faint sound of birdsong filtered in from outside.

As Felipe had been the one to initiate contact between them, Nelsinho's personal quandary was broken. On opening his eyes again, he pressed his lips to the corner of Felipe's mouth. There was a faint prickle of stubble in that awkward touch, and then it was gone as he pulled back fractionally. Felipe neither recoiled nor removed his hand from Nelsinho's shoulder; the shy kiss seemed to take a moment to register with him. Then, without any hesitation, he turned his head a little and sought out Nelsinho's mouth for a kiss of his own.

Attentive to every inch of Felipe's body against his, Nelsinho welcomed the gentleness, the slow rhythm of unfamiliar lips and tongue; letting Felipe taste him and not daring to hope for anything more. The moment was unexpected and intimate enough to make the hairs rise on the back of Nelsinho's neck.

When Felipe broke away he pressed his lips together, wetting them with a lingering swipe of his tongue. Nelsinho tore his eyes away from the tempting, taunting shine of that mouth before want got the better of him. He wondered if he had imagined the dim heat in Felipe's gaze.

Felipe turned his head away but stayed close, taking a long drink of his _batida_. Nelsinho leaned against him, his drink still neglected in his hand. Neither of them spoke a word.

Maybe Felipe wouldn't forget this. Maybe Nelsinho didn't want him to.

Maybe Felipe would win the championship after all.

Maybe Nelsinho would find it in him to clear his conscience.

Maybe.


End file.
